He was recalling almost
everything now. The pursuit, the hotel, the tremulous daring of
his entry, the swift adventure of the inn yard, the
moonlight--Abruptly he threw the clothes back and rose into a
sitting position on the edge of the bed. Without was the noise of
shutters being unfastened and doors unlocked, and the passing of
hoofs and wheels in the street. He looked at his watch. Half-past
six. He surveyed the sumptuous room again.
"Lord!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "It wasn't a dream, after all."
"I wonder what they charge for these Juiced rooms!" said Mr.
Hoopdriver, nursing one rosy foot.
He became meditative, tugging at his insufficient moustache.
Suddenly he gave vent to a noiseless laugh. "What a rush it was!
Rushed in and off with his girl right under his nose. Planned it
well too. Talk of highway robbery! Talk of brigands Up and off!
How juiced SOLD he must be feeling It was a shave too--in the
coach yard!"
Suddenly he became silent. Abruptly his eyebrows rose and his jaw
fell. "I sa-a-ay!" said Mr. Hoopdriver.
He had never thought of it before. Perhaps you will understand
the whirl he had been in overnight. But one sees things clearer
in the daylight. "I'm hanged if I haven't been and stolen a
blessed bicycle."
"Who cares?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, presently, and his face
supplied the answer.
Then he thought of the Young Lady in Grey again, and tried to put
a more heroic complexion on the business. But of an early
morning, on an empty stomach (as with characteristic coarseness,
medical men put it) heroics are of a more difficult growth than
by moonlight.
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